On The Way
by coolangel52
Summary: In the midst of last minute wedding shopping, Draco stumbles across a local coffee shop. Non-Hogwarts Draco, Harry/Draco Pansy/OC


** Ñ/: None of this is mine; it belongs to JK Rowling, the queen of literature. This is very mild Drarry! R&R!**

Draco pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, trying to ward off the vicious bite of the wind. He scowled as his lips started chattering. Why was Muggle London so bloody cold? Surely they didn't think their flimsy streetlights would substitute Heating charms. He sneezed, and his scowl deepened. Merlin forbid, if caught a cold while surrounded by Muggles, the Ministry would have something to hear about from him. He clutched Pansy's list tightly in his hand.

Pansy and her bloody manipulative ways.

He had been enjoying his day off, sleeping peacefully on the couch when Pansy's shrill voice blared through the fireplace. After a rather irate yelling match, Draco had grudgingly allowed her to come through the Floo. She had yapped his ear off, complaining about all the tedious things weddings required. Pansy and her to-be Muggle-born husband were set on doing a traditional Muggle style wedding. Pansy, having never heard of any of the customs her fiancée had grown up with, was in a frenzy. Nothing that the wedding called for could be found in Diagon Alley, so she had spent a good two weeks trying to track down Muggle bridal stores. Draco had repeatedly tried to tell her that he, in fact, did not really care, and hoped she had fun running around Merlin's creation to find the napkins that didn't banish food residue. He had insisted that she talked to, oh, he didn't know, maybe her actual fiancée to retrieve the things she needed to purchase?

That had apparently been the wrong thing to ask. Pansy's face had scrunched up, and tears had leaked from the corners of her eyes. Draco had mechanically engulfed her in a hug, listing to her continuous claims about being wed to a disinterested man, and how, no, Draco didn't understand, and how she had so much to do, and she was going to lose her mind if she didn't get everything done next week the wedding was going to be a disaster, and could he please step into his role of best friend of the bride please, please help her. Draco didn't point out that maybe, if he had lady bits, being the bride's best friend would actually entitle him to do these tasks. He probably wouldn't have done it if he hadn't've been home schooled all his life, with a young Pansy as his only companion through the long years of adolescent. So, he had sighed, taken the list from her hand, and gone to get dressed.

Bloody Pansy. Bloody weddings. Bloody cold weather. Bloody Muggles. Bloody everything.

A particularly large gust of wind snatched the prized list out his hand. Draco cried out, pushing through the congested sidewalks. The list continued to fly higher and farther away from Draco's reach. He huffed when he realized he couldn't Summon the sheet of paper. He ran on begrudgingly. Pansy would murder him if he came home empty-handed. Scratch that; it was Ryan he had to worry about. What had possessed Pansy to fall in love with such an able Auror?

It seemed as though an eternity had passed when the wind had finally let up, and the list had fallen limply to the ground. Draco's eyes were stinging, and every breath of cold air stabbed his chest. He bent down to pick up the list, glaring at it as he struggled to catch his breath.

"You probably think all this is funny, don't you?" He said out loud, glaring at the not-so-innocent piece of paper. "Lead me all around Muggle London. Well, ha ha. Hilarious. I'm a good six kilometres from the closest bridal store."

He closed his eyes, rubbing frozen fingers across them. "I'm talking to a piece of paper."

Draco looked up, slowly rubbing his face. He was standing outside what seemed to be a café, with people sipping steaming cups of coffee while idly reading the paper. Waitresses bustled about, giving out refills and delivering food. It was a humble little place, and Draco wondered what it was doing in the city.

Draco pushed through the door to the café. He was hit with the smell of coffee beans, pastries, and warmth. Oh, the warmth. He sighed involuntarily, feeling his taut shoulders relax considerably.

He heard a trill of laughter behind his closed eyes. His eyes snapped open, and a woman came into focus. She had poorly dyed roots, and was a little chunky around the edges. Her round face held a bright smile, and she had the uncanning openness of personality that Muggles possessed. She was donned in a blue dress and bright white apron, and she was clutching a paper pad and pen in a manicured hand.

"It sure is warm in here, isn't it, sir?" She said, smiling knowingly at Draco.

Draco nodded abashedly.

The woman smiled even wider. "Do you need a table? Are you waiting for anybody?" The woman gestured towards the abundance of tables. Something pointed caught Draco's sight from behind the woman's apron. A wand. Draco sagged with relief. A wizarding shop. That would explain the traditional attire.

Draco shook his head, clearing his throat. "Ah, no. I'm here by myself. Just warming up."

The woman nodded. "That's what quite a few people have been doing these past few days. October is usually warmer, no? Ah, well. Hopefully we'll have a scalding summer to make up for this."

Draco snorted. "Not in Muggle London."

The woman laughed. "I suppose you're right. Can I help you to a cup of coffee, then? Our cappuccinos are out of this world."

Draco considered the offer, looking around the homely café. He nodded, giving the woman a tight smile. "That would be lovely."

The woman beamed (what a surprise), and lead Draco to a table near a frosted window. "I'm Molly, by the way." She said, winking at him playfully as he sat down. Despite his protests, she handed him a menu, telling him to "at least give the grilled cheese a shot". He had mentally scoffed. Muggle food. That was why when the woman, Molly, brought the grilled cheese out without him asking, he had not taken a bite. He hadn't enjoyed it, and he hadn't asked for seconds. And after (not having) his third helping, he had not asked for the hot chocolate with extra milk. Because that was simply not what Malfoys did.

As he (wasn't) enjoying his hot chocolate, he heard a loud crash. He looked up, as did the rest of the restaurant. A burly man with a scruffy beard was looking down at something-no, someone- on the ground. His eyes were squinted in an accusatory fashion, and he had both his hands on his hips.

"Potter!" He barked. "This is getting ridiculous. Tie your sodding shoes, clean up this glass, and bus a table for once!"

The person on the ground, Potter, nodded resolutely, before starting to pick up shattered pieces of broken glass. Whispers seemed to erupt from Draco's fellows diners. Harry Potter, The Chosen One, and The Boy Who Lived were tossed around frequently. Draco looked around, confused by the sudden commotion. Who was Harry Potter, or The Chosen One, or the Boy Who Lived? There was only one person on the ground. How could they be talking about three different people?

Draco realised that the man on the ground, Harry Potter, was The Chosen One, and the Boy Who Lived. He clearly seemed like a big deal. But how did all these strangers seem to know about him, when Draco didn't?

Hogwarts folk. It dawned on Draco that this Harry Potter boy must've been extremely popular at Hogwarts. The Malfoys had stayed away from Britain from the war, separating themselves from The Dark Lord completely for reasons a twenty-seven year old Draco still didn't know. Draco had grown up in Western Australia, hearing tales of Hogwarts from his parents. He had thrown fit upon fit for them to send him to the apparently lavish school. His parents had ignored him, always waiting for him to yell himself out. It seemed that him and Pansy were the only people in the world who had not attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The man, Harry Potter, was standing up now, and Draco got his first look of the man. The man was a good height; a solid 5'10. He was in great physical shape, and was darker than most wizards Draco knew. He looked extremely young; maybe even Draco's age. Shaggy black hair drooped over the man's face, dangerously close to his sophisticated square framed glasses. Square framed glasses that covered-

Draco choked on his breath. Those eyes. They were impossibly green, illegally bright. They held an overload of emotion. Draco wished those eyes would look up from their task of holding glass and look at him.

Draco didn't register that he was moving until he was mere meters away from Harry Potter. He tapped the dark man on the shoulder, startled when he spun around abruptly. Suddenly, those bright green eyes were focused only on him. They looked at him with confusion and vague suspicion.

"May I help you, sir?" Harry Potter said, his voice a tad higher than what Draco expected. Draco couldn't say anything, his mind completely captivated by the emeralds this man possessed.

The eyes were moving. Draco followed them, watching them rise to the top of Harry's head, before climbing back down. Did he just roll his eyes at me?

Harry huffed, and Draco finally focused on his face as a whole, not just a set of pretty eyes. "You want an autograph, don't you? Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not supposed to give out autographs when I'm on the clock. I'm really only allowed to be busing tables."

Draco nodded, clearing his throat. "I-um...sorry. I'm Draco Malfoy." He stuck his hand out for Harry to shake. Harry chuckled, a little bitterly in Draco's opinion.

"My hands are a tad full right now, don't you think? Well, let's just cut to the chase. Yes, I really am Harry Potter, yes, I defeated Voldemort, yes, I'm working as a busboy at a coffee shop, and finally, no, I will not sign, kiss, give money, or do any vulgar sexual act to you or any of your family members. Does that about cover everything?"

Draco blinked, surprised by Harry Potter's sharp retort. He narrowed his eyes slightly, not liking Harry's tone. A celebrity or not, no one disrespected Draco.

"I beg your pardon! Why in the world would I want an autograph from who? Who the hell is Voldemort?" Draco said sharply, more than a little hurt by the casual way Harry had brushed him off.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Don't you want an autograph?"

"I bloody well don't. Sure, if you were Celestina Warbeck, I might ask you to sign something for my mum. Why in the name of Merlin would I want something signed from you?"

The patrons of the restaurant seemed to gasp collectively. More murmurs flooded through the air, words like ignorant, Muggle, and foreigner dropping off peoples' tongues. However, Harry didn't seem to be looking at them. His face was in a state of utter shock. His eyes held...hope, was it? Excitement? Thankfulness?

Relief?

"You really don't know who I am?" Harry said too quietly for the surrounding crowd to hear. "You don't know about Voldemort, or any of my misadventures?"

Draco shook his head slowly. "I grew up in Australia. Homeschooled, actually. Is this some kind of strange Hogwarts folk slang?"

Harry sighed, all the tension loosening from his arms. "You really don't know."

"No."

A touch of suspicion leaked into his eyes. "Then, why did you want to talk to me? A stranger, in your eyes."

Draco gestured toward the broken glass Harry had in his grip. "Along the rest of the restaurant, I saw you fall. I thought I would help you?" He didn't mean for the last part to come out as a tentative question.

Harry flushed, biting the corner of his lip. "It's really alright. The Drill Sergeant wouldn't appreciate me accepting help from a custome-"

Draco pulled a large shard of glass from Harry's hold, ignoring his protest. The piece of glass had chafed against Harry's skin, rubbing it raw. Draco continued to collect more and more jagged pieces, finding the numerous pricks and scrapes they had caused.

When Draco took the last piece of glass from Harry's arms, his fingers brushed against the crook of Harry's arm. Grey eyes met green ones, drawn by fascination, tenderness, and infatuation.

Harry was the first to draw back, looking down at his shoes. "You can just, um, throw it away. Thank you very much. What's your name again?"

Draco smiled widely, giving the bright waitress a run for her money. "Draco Malfoy. I really hope we'll meet again, Harry Potter."

Harry blushed prettily, smiling sweetly at Draco. "I do, as well, Draco Malfoy."

With that, Draco threw the glass away, left two Galleons on his table, and walked out smiling to himself. He barely felt the cold, only remembering the way Harry had said his name so melodically. He had finished his chores for Pansy, thoughts of a blushing Harry in his mind. He had returned home past midnight, falling into bed mechanically.

_I really hope we'll meet again, Harry Potter. _

_I do, as well, Draco Malfoy. _

_I do as well. _


End file.
